The Pros and Cons of Loving Patrick Jane
by Operation Milkdud
Summary: Because Lisbon needs reasons for everything she does, including falling in love. Jisbon drabbles.
1. Dessert

A/N: I have no idea how many random little tidbits I'll actually get around to posting, but I do know that they will not fit into one particular genre. So, at the beginning of each one, I'll mention the genre and characters. And please review! It helps with the updating ;)

**Drabble Genre: Humor**

**Characters: Teresa Lisbon/Patrick Jane**

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"What is your favorite dessert?"

"I don't care for sweets."

"A dessert is not a 'sweet.' It's the proper way to finish up a meal."

"I don't care for properly finishing up a meal."

"Yes, you do. You wanna know how I know?"

"If I say 'no,' are you still going to tell me?"

"Of course I am."

"Very well."

"Because your grocery list-here-mentions anti-sensitivity toothpaste. Now, there are only two reasons why one would purchase such toothpaste."

"Jane, while I am dying to hear this, I do have better things to do. Like maim the idiot who is responsible for all this damned paperwork."

"You're not going to maim me, are you?"

"Yes. Stop poking your lip out at me."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Alright! Why do I want to buy the freaking toothpaste!"

"What, you don't know? Well, as I was saying, there are only two reasons for purchasing aforementioned toothpaste, and one of them is that you have a coupon for it; people can't resist a bargain. The other is that you have sensitive teeth, almost certainly from a cavity or sensitivity sustained from sugar and other food matter damaging your tooth enamel. Oh, or you rarely brush your teeth, and your dentist recommended special toothpaste. And you have beautiful, white teeth-so I'm guessing that's out. So, how about it Lisbon? What's your favorite sugary treat? Ice cream? Chocolate cake?"

"..."

"?"

"Oh, alright. Cherry cream cheese pie."

"Cherry cream cheese pie? I don't believe I've ever had that before. Why do you like it?"

"Because it tastes good...and it's easy to make."

"Really?"

"Sure. You just buy a pie crust, spread some cream cheese in there, and dump cherry pie filling on top."

"You make it sound so appetizing."

"See, that is exactly why I never tell you anything."

"Oh, come on, Lisbon! We're bonding here."

"Get out of my office before I get started on the maiming, Jane."

"Maim away, Lisbon! Anything you want to do to me, I'm up for it."

"..."

"Blushing, again? Do you have some kind of skin disorder?"

"!"

"?"

"!"

...

"Jane, how did you get that bruise on your head?"

"It's Lisbon's time of the month, Grace. I'd be wary of flying staplers, if I were you."

"What has Cho always told you, Jane? If you continue to be yourself, you're going to keep getting hurt."

"And if I keep continuing to be myself whilst women are menstruating, I'm going to die. I know." _sigh._

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_Review; it makes life sweeter :D_


	2. Ticket

Drabble Genre: Flirtatious Nonsense

**Characters: Lisbon/Jane; Risby/van Pelt**

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"Where is Jane?" Lisbon asked, obviously worried. Every morning for the past three months, she had come in to find Jane asleep on his favorite leather couch-but not yesterday, or the day before, and this morning was the last straw. She simply had to know where he was.

"He took a leave of absence," van Pelt replied, looking up momentarily from her computer screen. "He said something about it being 'the right time' and it 'had been coming for a while.'" And Grace, to Lisbon, seemed unconcerned. Too unconcerned; it was a forced demeanor, she was certain.

"There's something you're not telling me," Lisbon accused, putting her hands on her hips and sweeping her jacket behind her. The redhead's eyes flashed back to the screen too quickly.

"He's alright, I swear. That is exactly what he told me. I'm not lying," she babbled, grabbing a pen and tapping it nervously on her desk.

"Withholding information is the same as lying, in my book," Lisbon said, but the corner of her mouth quirked up; she didn't want van Pelt to think she was angry with her. Truthfully, she was hurt that Jane would confide in Grace-which he obviously had-and not herself. Weren't they closer than that?

Rigsby came into the bullpen at exactly that moment, carrying a cup of coffee and a donut with a big bite taken out of it. The two women gave him stern looks.

"Would've brough' you guys some," he said around a mouthful, "bu' I wa' run-nig late."

"That's fine, Rigsby. I'm not hungry. Have you heard anything from Jane?"

"Not since he took off a few days ago. He seemed fine when he left, though," he added, after seeing Lisbon's worried look. Being a sucker for women with _that_ expression on their faces, Rigsby brightened up at a sudden thought. "Cho knows where he is! We'll ask him."

In the farthest corner of Lisbon's mind, she registered an enraged glare thrown in Rigsby's direction. It had originated from van Pelt's widened eyes. He was oblivious to her scrutiny, and when Lisbon turned to face the red haired woman, her expression immediately rearranged into a forced, hard smile. Spending enough time around Patrick Jane had taught Lisbon two things: one, when someone smiled like that, they had something to hide, and two...two...it was really infuriating to deal with having feelings for a man who could read your mind.

Lisbon then realized something else, which deflated her entire soul.

"Cho is on vacation with his girlfriend. He left yesterday. And I couldn't possibly disturb them..." she trailed off, taking in both van Pelt and Rigsby's faces.

"Yes, you could," Rigsby said, taking another big bite.

"No, you couldn't!" Grace exclaimed, incredulous. "That would be-so-rude. I mean, wouldn't it, Wayne? That would be so...mean...it would surely detract from their experience, right? Right, _Wayne?"_

_ " _Owh...yeah. Righ' Grace. Would ruin their day. They wanna be alone," he said slowly, trying to chew while taking cues from Grace. Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"You two are blindingly obvious. Just tell me where Jane is. As his superior, it is my right to know, especially if you do."

Lisbon hated to use her status as Senior Agent to get what she wanted from her team (when it had nothing to do with a case) but when it came to Jane's whereabouts, she was quickly discovering that her determination had no boundaries. She needed to _know. _

The elevator arrived with a _ding! _and Lisbon, out of habit, turned to see who it was.

Jane stood there, one hand resting at his side and the other behind his back. Lisbon hated the blush that crept up her neck and into her face, hated the butterflies that filled her stomach, the relief that nearly knocked her backward, the difficulty with which she held herself back from tackling him with a tight embrace. Well, maybe she didn't hate it, but she knew it was terribly inappropriate. And Teresa Lisbon never did anything inappropriate.

There was a silence, and then Rigsby pointed and said, quite anticlimactically, "There he is!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Grace mumbled, a barely concealed smile stretching her lips.

Jane stepped off the elevator and was in front of Lisbon in moments. He nodded to Rigsby and van Pelt, smiling peculiarly. Lisbon crossed her arms and waited.

"I know you're wondering where I've been," Jane said, sounding repentant, "but I have an excellent explanation."

"Why didn't you tell me where you were going?" Lisbon said, and then realized she sounded like she was whining. That would not do. "I am your superior, you know. You can't just take off without notifying me."

"I notified Hightower," Jane said smugly.

Lisbon gaped.

"And Grace-and Wayne and Cho and that new secretary, and her nephew; he was visiting for the day-"

"So why couldn't you tell me where you were going? Did you forget about me?" Whining again. _Oh, to hell with it._

"No, I just didn't think you'd mind hearing it secondhand...was it that big a deal?" And Lisbon became so infuriated at his teasing smile that she clenched her hands into fists to avoid decking him.

"You're-such an idiot! The next time you just take off like that, you're fired!"

"Ah, but it's not exactly your decision whether I'm fired or not, is it?" he said, and it could have been her imagination, but she thought he inched closer to her.

Something else caught her attention.

"What do you have behind your back?"

"A hippopotamus."

"Seriously, Jane," she said, holding her hand out. She didn't know why she did it, but she did.

"Okay, okay. I guess the fun has to come to an end some time."

It took a minute for her to register what he had placed into her hand. Two airline tickets, for a plane that left in a few hours, a plane that was headed to-

"Paris?" Lisbon asked, her voice sounding for all the world like a little girl's. "Paris?"

"Uhh, unless they changed the name," he said, tipping the ticket down so he could read it, "and look at that! They haven't! Still Paris. That _is _where you've wanted to go ever since you were...I'd say...fifteen? Am I right?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, not surprised by his uncanny ability to know everything anymore. "But why? And where have you been gone so long?"

"I've been arranging this. I told Grace and Rigsby and Cho-and Hightower-so that they'd know where you were going, and to get permission for you to have a few weeks off. I also needed a couple of days to pack your suitcase; you'd notice immediately if everything disappeared all at once. You need better locks, by the way. Anywho, Hightower said you definitely deserved a vacation. Van Pelt thinks it's romantic, Rigsby thinks we're going to have a torrid love affair-and I couldn't tell what Cho thought about it-just stared at me. Like a zombie. Creeped me out."

"Jane...I...don't know what to say."

He stepped forward and took her hand. Van Pelt swooned. Rigsby swallowed his donut.

"Well, it would be very rude to turn me down. The tickets are non-refundable. And so is the hotel room, and the rental car...why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, but he already knew.

With tears in her eyes and two open-ended tickets to Paris in her hand, Teresa Lisbon collapsed in Patrick Jane's arms, smiling and giggling and entirely unlike herself.

Jane grinned wider. Rigsby even smiled a little, too. Grace's eyes were filled to the brim with tears of joy.

Before he could stop himself, Jane had kissed Lisbon's cheek, a little too close to her lips. She looked up at him, all thoughts of Paris forgotten.

"You...uh..."

"I'm-I apologize, Lisbon-Teresa-Lis-"

She kissed him, his lips meshing against hers, so soft and delicious, strawberry-flavored half-melted goodness filling her mouth. His hands were on her face; her fingers tangled in his blond, curly hair.

"Ahem," Grace coughed.

Rigsby gaped. That was all. He lacked the brainpower to do much else.

Lisbon pulled away, still holding Jane's hand.

"Let's go," she said breathlessly.

Jane nodded his disheveled head and followed her to the elevator.

Van Pelt looked at Rigsby, and he curiously returned her gaze.

"Do you think they'll-"

"-Absolutely."

"Do you think he'll-"

"-Without a doubt."

"..."

"..."

"Well, it's about time."

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_Please _review. I get a little disheartened sometimes-and today is one of those days. So, do me a favor? Thanks!


	3. Exception

**Author's completely irrelevant note to readers:** This idea popped up in my head today when this song, "Only Exception" by Paramore, came on the radio. I do not own The Mentalist or the song, but I think they fit together so perfectly and this was born. Darn you, evil plot bunny. Anyways, this will probably be a collection of drabbles. I'll write one whenever I'm not working or sleeping or eating or bathing and whatnot else there is to do with one's day. ;) Review and make me smile like a freakin' idiot.

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Teresa Lisbon was, first and foremost, a realist. She saw everything in black and white. People were good or they were bad. It was the truth or a lie. Friends were real or enemies; work was work and play was...for someone else. And love, of course, was for those with more time, more faith and fewer scars than she could remember having.

Although there were, of course, exceptions.

The first boy she'd ever loved, well, he was something. Of course, every little girl loved her father before anyone else, but he was different. When her mother was working, it was brownies for breakfast, bologna sandwiches for lunch and always spaghetti for dinner (because that was all he knew how to cook). And she loved it. He only pretended to be stern in front of her mother; he would come to her room later and tell her to never stop having her adventures.

And then her mother had died, and he'd changed. A little part of him broke away and was buried with his wife, and she always thought bitterly that it was the part that had loved his children.

_When I was younger I saw_

_My daddy cry_

_And curse at the wind_

_He broke his own heart_

_And I watched_

_As he tried to reassemble it_

_And my mama swore that_

_She would never let herself forget_

The first boy she'd ever been in love with, well...what could she say? They were both sixteen, in the same computer class, and socially awkward. She didn't remember very well how they'd begun dating, but she did remember the moment she had fallen in love with him. They were attending his junior prom, and he placed a simple corsage of daisies around her wrist, kissed the back of her hand, and helped her settle into the passenger seat in her homemade dress. That night, they had both lost their virginity, and to her disappointment, it wasn't as magical as her mother said it should be when two people are really in love.

Six months later, she discovered his feelings for her best friend...and said best friend's pregnancy. Crushed and disgusted with herself for allowing it to happen, she swore off love for the rest of her life.

_And that was the day that I promised_

_I'd never sing of love_

_If it does not exist._

The first year of college saw her breaking that promise to herself. Co-ed dorms were a thing of beauty, and so was the boy who lived three doors down. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a perfectly muscled physique. Perhaps it was shallow, but the second he'd asked her out to dinner, she'd fallen hard. It lasted a good year and a half before he told her he was changing his major and would be moving to the other side of the country in the fall.

It was a lie; he was going to prison for armed robbery. And she had only found out because she'd gone to pick up her father from jail for public drunkenness while they were booking her criminal (ex) boyfriend.

_Maybe I know, somewhere_

_Deep in my soul_

_That love never lasts_

_And we've got to find other ways_

_To make it alone_

_Or keep a straight face_

Yes, her experiences with love, limited though they may be, had not resulted in an inclination to think that love was anything special. As a matter of fact, it was downright unpleasant in its entirety. Every happy moment in her life had been completely overshadowed by the overwhelming mass of tainted memories, courtesy of people she had loved.

_And I've always lived like this_

_Keeping a comfortable distance_

_And up until now_

_I had sworn to myself that I'm content_

_With loneliness_

_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

So, it came as a surprise to her that she found herself lying in Patrick Jane's arms, twisting his blond curls between her fingers. He was deeply asleep and more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. He mumbled her name in his dreams. And right then, at that moment, she realized that a person does not simply fall in love.

People share a moment, or two, in which they need each other in exactly the same way at exactly the same time. There is an instant, silent understanding that _this is the person_ who can save them from their fears of being alone, of their past failures, of their internal struggles to _do _and _be _on their own. People look into a mirror and see what they need reflected back to them, conveniently packaged into an attractive image of what they want, and it all falls into place. And it could be painful, hideously so...or it could be...maybe...something else.

It could be love.

And she fell asleep smiling.

_I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't_

_Let go of what's in front of me here_

_I know you're leaving in the morning, when you wake up_

_Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream..._

_You are the only exception_

_You are the only exception..._

_You are the only exception_

_And I'm on my way to believing._


	4. Dance

A/N: Thank you so much to all my reviewers! I'm really overwhelmed by the response to "Ticket." Special thank yous and super buddy hugs to Holz9364 (you quoted my writing! omg, flattered, much?) and Frogster, who reviewed each chapter sooo sweetly. And to answer any questions, the cherry cream cheese pie recipe is very real and quite delicious; Lisbon's realization was about her feelings for Jane and the fact that she couldn't reach Cho, as he was away; and because I love Frogster's idea of following Jane and Lisbon to Paris, I'm going to be working on that bit and maybe have it up within the next day or two.

Anyways, here's today's bit of fluffy nonsense (and please forgive me, but I hate writing romance without some humor-it's either too mushy or just plain boring)!

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**Drabble Genre: Romance/Humor**

**Characters: Lisbon/Jane**

**Written (distractedly) to Josh Turner's "Why Don't We Just Dance?"**

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Teresa Lisbon, hairbrush in hand, barely heard the knocking over her radio. She was having such a good time in her t-shirt, sweatpants and socks that she didn't fret about what her company might think.

Until she opened the door and saw who it was.

"Jane! What are you doing here? It's Saturday."

"Oh, really? I had no idea, what with yesterday being Friday and all." He smiled at her, and to her dismay, he looked absolutely flawless in his usual pristine suit. She cringed internally (no doubt he knew) when she thought of how she must look.

"Well...so, why are you here?" She rested the hairbrush against her shoulder, her free hand opening the door wider so that he could enter.

"I overheard you telling Grace that you were considering hiring someone to plant some trees around your driveway...I thought I could save you the labor cost. You know, that stuff's outrageous these days."

Lisbon gaped. Patrick Jane, mind-reading consultant of the CBI, was volunteering to plant trees on her lawn (for free) on a Saturday, his day off. He entered her home, which was a little messier than usual, and smiled brightly.

"This is exactly how I thought it would be."

"Uh...okay? Well...I don't have any trees to plant, Jane...and you couldn't possibly expect to do yard work dressed like that." He looked down his body and back up, made a show of stretching out his arms and removing his jacket and then rolled up his sleeves.

"Have I taken off enough clothes, Lisbon?" he asked, turning around so she could see him from every angle. She blushed.

"Yes, that's...that's fine. But like I said, I don't have any-"

"Trees? That's'kay. I brought some with me!" he said excitedly, and disappeared outside. Lisbon just stood there, absentmindedly brushing her hair, and determined that she must be dreaming. Yes, that was right. Her brush then caught on a tangle and the sting at her scalp reminded her that she was very much awake. The music playing in the background, the mess of dishes in her sink, the stains on her white v-neck t-shirt all came screaming to the front of her mind. Suddenly self-conscious, Lisbon rushed to her room to find something-anything-decent to wear.

_Wait, _she thought, _he'll notice if I change clothes, and then he'll think I changed clothes just for him...which is exactly what I would be doing. And then he'll do that mind trick thing that he does, and he will deduce that I'm in love with him or something. And I can't have that, because that would be very, very incorrect. Exactly._

She closed her closet door with a satisfied smirk; Patrick Jane did not affect her, and she did not have to pretty herself up to be in his presence. No matter that he was gorgeous, intelligent, and willing to do intensive labor on a sultry Saturday for her benefit.

"Oh, there you are!" Jane exclaimed as she reentered her living room. "I brought several varieties with me-I wasn't sure which you preferred. They're out on your lawn. I've heard that women can be quite picky about plants...want the men to water them all the time, and such." Lisbon only nodded, and Jane raised an eyebrow. "A nod? That's all? No barbed comeback to slap me in the face and make me doubt my incredible wit and charm?" To Lisbon's utter amazement (which she concealed perfectly, thank you very much) he seemed a little disappointed. She hated disappointing him.

"Geez, come on," she sighed, grabbing his arm. "I'll grab a shovel. There's no way I'm letting you dig holes unsupervised."

About three hours (and a thousand shovelfuls of dirt later) two sweaty, disheveled people entered Lisbon's home, wiping perspiration and flecks of black dirt from their faces, arms and necks. Lisbon commanded Jane to stand still while she found him something to wear; he was _not _tracking filth all over her floor.

She returned from her room with a large pair of men's pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt. Jane looked quizzically at her.

"So this is what do you with your free time?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"They're an old boyfriend's. I never got around to tossing them out."

"Yeah, right. Cross-dresser," Jane mumbled, still grinning teasingly. Lisbon swatted his arm.

"I'll be right back. I need to change, too. You can use the bathroom in the hall..." she said, disappearing back into her room.

When she found Jane again, he was looking rather comical in someone else's pajamas and fiddling with the portable radio on her kitchen counter.

"This thing is ancient. There's static on every station. How can you stand it?" Jane inquired, sounding more amazed than anything. Lisbon joined him in turning the knobs and adjusting the antenna.

"I'm not home often enough to warrant spending a ton of money on a nice stereo system. This gets me by. I like to have music while I'm-"

"Washing the dishes?" he answered for her, almost as an afterthought.

"...Yeah. It's fun."

"Yeah. Ooh, here we go! No static. All systems are go!" he said joyfully, clapping a little. Lisbon giggled, then groaned when she realized it was a country station.

"I can't stand this music-"

"Well, that's your own fault; if you had better reception, or perhaps a decent radio..."

Lisbon glared at Jane, and a silence ensued. His smile never faltered, and the Senior Agent began to feel a little uncomfortable. Then, she realized there was one thing she had yet to do.

"Um...Jane...I want to let you know that I really am grateful for your help today. I never would have gotten around to planting those trees on my own. And they do make a difference." She struggled to look him in the eye. He was so close, she could smell the sunscreen they'd slathered on and a hint of sweat, masculinity, and aftershave. She hated to think of what she smelled like.

"You smell wonderful."

"Thanks. I thought that maybe..." She stopped then, realizing he had answered an unspoken (and rather private) question. Lisbon flushed bright red, and Jane laughed aloud. She had never seen him so free, and wondered what had changed. Maybe working outdoors had put him in a good mood?

Silence again. And then the song on the radio changed. To Lisbon's surprise, it was a song she'd heard once before, and it was kind of peppy. Before she knew it, Jane had cranked up the volume, bowed dramatically in front of her, offered his hand, and she had taken it. Jane pulled her a bit closer, held one of her hands in each of his, and began twisting first his torso, then his feet. Lisbon laughed and tried not to look like an idiot while she attempted to copy him.

"No, like this-wait a minute," Jane said, and he pushed her small sofa over to the wall to give them more room. Then he returned to her, and this time, he shyly pulled her to him. "Like you enjoy it, please, Teresa," he teased, and she purposefully stepped on his foot. He chuckled under his breath again, and Lisbon couldn't help herself: she relaxed at those gleaming blue eyes, that rumbling laugh, the sight of her good (dear, wonderful, best?) friend in pajamas. She allowed him to dance her across her living room floor in a mock tango, then a faux foxtrot, a helplessly flawed (but absolutely hilarious) mambo. She didn't know when the songs began to blur into one another, or how many days they spent holding each other, laughing and giggling and dancing like idiots. Jane stubbed his toe (twice), fell over from exhaustion, stood back up and fell over again, the second time taking her with him.

It was there, whilst lying with Patrick Jane in a frumpy, sweaty mess on her carpet that she realized something very important, but she couldn't figure out quite how to say it. So she settled with something similar to what she felt was safe and honest enough to say.

"Jane...thank you for today. For the trees and the dancing. It...I really needed it. You have no idea how badly."

"So...you have a newfound love for country music, I'm guessing?" he asked, smiling across the three feet between their exhausted bodies. Lisbon nodded, her hair spreading out behind her on the carpet. "Good," was all he said, in a tone unlike anything she'd ever heard from him. And he reached out and took her hand.

"We're going to have to get up from here eventually."

"I know. Wanna plant more trees tomorrow?"

"Sure," Lisbon answered, not sure if she meant it. She was truly worn out.

"How about...after that? We could plant trees every day."

"And I'd be living in a jungle right smack in the middle of California." Jane grinned at her words, and she answered him with a small smile. "But if you'd like to do something else...I think that would be nice," she suggested quietly.

After they'd collected themselves and straightened up Lisbon's living room, Jane gathered his dirty clothes into his arms and told her he'd best be leaving. With a disappointment that she knew was entirely childish and unbecoming of a thirty-something, mature woman, Lisbon followed him to her front door. He walked briskly to a truck that he must have rented to accommodate the trees and tossed his ruined suit into the passenger seat.

She thought he was going to leave without saying goodbye, but then he returned, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I'll tell you what. We will do something tomorrow. We'll go dancing. How about that?" he stated, more than asked, and Lisbon nodded. Not knowing if she should hug him, Lisbon stuck out her hand for him to shake. He took it, then pulled her to his chest and kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Teresa. And you're welcome."

After she was absolutely positive that he had driven at least a mile away and wasn't coming back, Teresa Lisbon closed her front door and collapsed on her sofa, her head swimming with the events of the day. When it came time for her to wash the dirty dishes in her sink, and she was filling the basin with soapy water-she reached over automatically to adjust the station to her favorite, but her hand stopped short of the little radio. Then, she pulled her hand back with a smile as that familiar song filled the room again.

_This little bitty livin' room ain't gonna look like much_

_But when the lights go down and we move the couch_

_It's gonna be more than enough_

_For my two left feet and our two hearts beatin'_

_Nobody's gonna see us go crazy_

_So baby, why don't we just dance?_

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Reviews constantly remind me of how awesome you guys are :)_


	5. Fountain

A/N: Dear Lord have mercy on my soul, I just realized something TERRIBLE: I am incapable of writing a drabble. These chapters are far too long to be considered drabbles, but I can't seem to make them any shorter! Ah, well. A series of one-shots, then?

A/N2: The thing about one-shots is, they're not intended to be continued...but because I LOVE my reviewers so dearly and appreciate all that they do, this "double-shot" is a continuation of "Ticket" for Frogster, and the next one will be a continuation of "Dance" for springdreaming. Thank you guys so much for your feedback :D Happy reading!

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**Drabble Genre: More flirtatious nonsense**

**Characters: Lisbon/Jane**

**Written to "I've Just Seen A Face" by the Beatles, covered by Jim Sturgess**

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_I have never known the likes of this,_

_I've been alone and I have missed things_

_And kept out of sight_

_But other girls were never quite like this..._

_Falling, yes I am falling, and she keeps calling me back again._

It was the final day of their trip to Paris, and Lisbon looked thoroughly melancholy. Jane kindly reminded her that the team back in California was surely missing them terribly, and there were probably a dozen new cases to be solved. That seemed to cheer her up a bit, and she smiled a little as she packed most of her things back into her suitcase.

"My dear Teresa, what exactly is that?"

"What's what?"

"That-right there, under your pink lacy underpants."

"Jane!"

"Well? Are you going to tell me or should I peruse your belongings while you're asleep tonight?"

"You should know what it is; you packed it," she said, blushing deeply. She hadn't worn that skimpy bathing suit at all during the trip, and she had no intention of ever wearing it. Rigsby had bought it for her as a prank gift on one of her birthdays. It probably still had the tags on it.

"Well, then. Why don't you try it on? I'm willing to bet that you would look stunning in it."

"Jane, we hadn't planned on going swimming today. We're nowhere near any beaches."

"Just trust me, Teresa," he said charmingly, placing one hand on either of her shoulders. "Try it on."

And because he _had _funded the entire trip, gone through the trouble of planning everything and refused to even let Lisbon pay for a single dinner, she snatched up the little black, backless bathing suit and marched to the bathroom of their luxurious hotel room.

"I don't like it, and I don't want to do it!" she said, trying to sound agitated, but unable to conceal her laughter. Jane stuck his tongue out at her and sat on the bed while he waited for her to change.

When she emerged, his eyes lit up like glittering stars. Lisbon, of course, blushed a flattering pink. The suit, with its halter top and sweetheart neckline, hugged her so perfectly that Jane was certain it had been made for her.

"Excellent. Now, slip something on over it and let's go. One last stop-Place de la Concorde!"

Before they reached that "one last stop," Jane insisted on treating Lisbon to a delicious lunch with a view of the Eiffel Tower. To Lisbon's surprise, Jane had done an immense amount of reading about her favorite city to supply entertainment. She told him he was even better than the Travel Channel, and he grinned. Afterward, they rode an elevator to the top of the Tower for the umpteenth time in the past two weeks; Lisbon surveyed the city beneath them and sighed, swearing that she would never forget any of the time they had spent together in that beautiful place.

Jane took her hand in his and kissed it. The breeze ruffled his curls and made Lisbon's dress flutter around her knees.

"Neither will I."

They spent much of the day strolling in Paris, ducking in and out of shops. Jane positively _had_ to stop by a patisserie for a bite of his favorite pastry, a scrumptious eclair. In the end, he gave most of it to Lisbon, watching her it eat with relish. The word "beautiful" slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Beautiful?" Lisbon asked, chocolate melting across her lips. Jane lifted a thumb to wipe it away, then placed his thumb in his mouth and smiled.

"Beautiful."

The last sight to be seen was the Place de la Concorde, approximately twenty acres in size; it had been created over two hundred years prior. Jane knew absolutely everything about it, and Lisbon was thoroughly contented to let him be her tour guide. It was dark by then, but Jane claimed that that was the best way to see anything in Paris because of the lights and sounds that filled the air.

"Established in seventeen sixty-three, when a statue of King Louis XV was erected in celebration of his recovery from a serious illness. During the French Revolution, more than one thousand people were beheaded here, including the infamous Marie Antoinette and Robespierre." Jane walked with his hands behind his back, dressed in his usual suit pants and spotless shoes, but wearing a thin white shirt to stay cool in the heat. He looked the picture of a gentleman, and Lisbon felt too casual walking beside him, the top of her swimsuit visible beneath the thin straps of her emerald green summer dress.

"If you look over there, you can see the Arc de Triomphe, and the Madeleine. And this," Jane said, spreading his arms wide, "is la fontaine des Mers. Some people say, that if you swim in this fountain at exactly ten o'clock, you will receive the thing you want most in the world." He was completely serious.

Lisbon laughed, and Jane furrowed his brow. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Jane," she said, trying to stifle her laughter. "That's interesting, really...and..._completely_ idiotic."

"Oh, is that so?" Jane's lips twisted in an almost insane way; he was so mischievous-looking that Lisbon knew it was time to flee.

Before she could escape, he grabbed her around her waist, and, ignoring the stares of onlookers and Lisbon's playful kicking, Jane stepped up onto the ledge of the enormous fontaine des Mers and half-dove, half-tripped into the water. He could almost sit comfortably on the bottom without being completely submerged, and his head stayed dry...but poor Lisbon, who had fallen most ungracefully into the fountain, came up sputtering and shooting daggers at her companion, who was laughing himself to tears.

"I probably should have told you to remove your dress first," he gasped between bouts of laughter, and Lisbon narrowed her eyes.

"You planned this whole thing, didn't you? That's why you were so bent on me wearing this ridiculous bathing suit!"

"Yes, my dear. I told you that I had planned it all down to the very last minute...that's why it cost me two days of work!" he chuckled under his breath and, somehow, Lisbon forgot to be angry. It was the look on his face, the water soaking the curls at the base of his neck, his ruined suit, the lights of Paris reflecting in his blue eyes...she moved so that she was sitting sideways on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I know one thing you haven't prepared yourself for."

Lisbon pressed her lips to his soft, pink mouth and sighed at the utter perfection of it all. Nothing else existed but his smell, the fountain, his lips, her heart beating madly in her chest. There was no CBI, no Red John, no work, no California. There was only Paris.

She pulled away to see him grinning like an idiot, and she smiled back.

"Yeah...planned that, too. I'm sure you noticed me popping breath mints like crazy whilst I was giving you the tour."

Lisbon splashed him in the face, and it was her turn to laugh.

Once they'd collected themselves (and someone had come to tell them it was against health regulations for them to play in the fountain) Jane turned to Lisbon with a question on his face. Lisbon was wringing out her hair as they tried to cross a street, and the lights danced merrily in the water droplets on her skin.

"So...now do you believe that the magic of the fountain exists?" Jane asked, and Lisbon couldn't tell if he was sincere, so she didn't laugh. Instead, she put some thought into her answer.

"No, I don't. I'm sorry, Jane, but I can't bring myself to believe that la fontaine des Mers has any special powers."

Jane stopped, genuinely interested in the tone of her voice-light and playful, and something else...something magical.

"And why not? I thought it was the perfect way to wrap up such an exquisite trip," he inquired, sounding a little disappointed. Lisbon stopped him, took her face in his hands, and kissed his lips so softly that he wondered if it really happened.

"Patrick," she whispered against his lips, "How can anyone give me what I want the most, when it's already mine?"

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AAAAAAAAAAAAAnnnddd review review review review review (thanks!) review review review review (you're wonderful!) review review review...okay, I'm done. :D


	6. Date?

A/N: Aaaaandddd if we haven't realized it by now, I pretty much have a theme song for all my one-shots/drabbles/whatchamacallits. And it's probably always going to be that way, because I generally don't like change. Thank you :D

This is written for springdreaming, as a continuation of "Dance." Please review, but if you don't have the time for such things, thanks for reading, anyway!

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**Drabble Genre: Romance**

**Characters: Lisbon/Jane**

**Written to Edwin McCain's "I Could Not Ask For More"**

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Patrick Jane, dressed to break hearts in a slate suit and crisp white shirt, knocked on Teresa Lisbon's door at exactly eight o'clock in the evening. She answered a few moments later, wearing a floaty mocha dress with sheer cap sleeves and a brilliant smile. Jane brought his hand from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of daisies. Lisbon only grinned wider.

"I was right, then. These _are _your favorite."

"You never cease to amaze me, Jane," Lisbon said lightly, and she took the flowers to her kitchen to place them in a vase with water. Jane followed, admiring the way the dress complimented her figure and how her hair softly fell over her shoulders.

"So, I see the living room suffered no permanent damage."

"Well, it was tough to get it back to the way it was before, but I had help," she grinned, and she realized she was actually flirting with him. He knew very well how much trouble it had been to move Lisbon's sofa back to its rightful place in the middle of the carpeted living room after their spirited dancing there: none at all.

"Any time," Jane said brightly, and he reached out to her.

"But where are we going?" Lisbon asked, taking the arm that Jane offered and blushing deeply.

"Dancing, of course-there's a little place I know; it's a bit of a drive, but it's well worth it, I promise."

To Jane's delight, Lisbon only protested minimally when he insisted upon driving. He won her over with the argument that she didn't know where they were going. She slid into the passenger seat of his blue Citroen with an adventurous look on her face.

Forty-five minutes later, they pulled into the crowded lot of a restaurant, and Lisbon looked at Jane quizzically.

"Are we eating, too? I didn't know, Jane...I've eaten already..."

"So have I. Just trust me."

They stopped just outside the door when Lisbon tugged on Jane's arm.

"You're not going to make me look ridiculous, are you? Because I do have a reputation to uphold."

"My dear Teresa," Jane said fondly, "I solemnly swear that I will not make you look ridiculous. But if, for some reason, I forget myself later, just remember that these people probably don't know you. It's late, it's dark, and we're a long way from home." And with that, he nudged her inside, and she didn't get a chance to protest further.

Lisbon was right to trust Jane; he led them through the restaurant portion of the establishment, then through two double-doors and into a smaller, more private room with a bar and dance floor. The stage was empty, but large speakers on the walls and around the room boomed with music, colorful lights illuminated the few dancers on the floor, and the faint smells of a bar lingered in the air.

There were plush chairs seated around several tables closer to the bar, posters of bands and films plastered the walls, and a disco ball even hung from the ceiling. Lisbon smiled.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable-I felt that a ballroom might not be your speed."

"You were right. As always. This brings back a lot of memories from college," Lisbon said wistfully.

Jane looked worried for a moment.

"Good ones, Jane. Good memories," she interjected, and his expression relaxed. The agent was very happy to see that she wasn't the only one who was nervous, and it made her feel just that little bit more at ease to realize that it was the arrogantly cool and charming Patrick Jane that she was affecting at the moment.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, gesturing toward the bar.

"No, thank you. I want to remember this." She said the last part quietly, but he heard her and smiled.

"Okay, Lisbon. We said we'd dance, so we're going to dance. Just as soon as they start playing a slightly less depressing song."

"This isn't depressing." she laughed. "It's just a love song. You know, the kind you slow-dance to?" Lisbon eyed her "date" (because it was a date, wasn't it?) curiously, and then laughed louder when she took in his expression. "Patrick Jane! Are you afraid to slow-dance with me?"

"Absolutely not!" he said defensively, and that was all the proof she needed. She quirked her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms.

"Oh, really? Because I think you are."

"Are you sure you don't want something to drink?"

"Don't change the subject!" she insisted, if only to annoy him. It was fun, really; now she understood why he purposely irritated her so often.

"Oh, would you listen to that? It seems that the DJ would agree with me. So, let's go," he said quickly, and practically dragged her to the dance floor at the first indication of an upbeat song. Other couples joined them, some from the tables and some from the restaurant. After a minute or two, Lisbon relaxed, and she allowed herself that one night with Jane.

The dancing was something she had desperately needed without knowing it; she likened it to a hug from a good friend after having an awful day, or that first breath of air after coming up from deep water. It was even more intoxicating than alcohol, dancing with Jane. He was the perfect partner. Even though she felt a little silly at first, he fit absolutely flawlessly beside her. He never dared touch her, because, she knew, he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. But she felt herself actually wanting him to; little burning places on her skin tingled where he'd accidentally brushed her arm or shoulder. And, as she thought most women probably would, she became incredibly self-conscious when she began to sweat as the many moving bodies in the room produced heat and her muscles began to tire. But Jane gave no sign of noticing or caring about anything other than dancing with her.

And then, another slow song.

Jane immediately moved away, putting more distance between them than there had been in the last hour. Lisbon felt just a little deprived and slightly hurt; she hoped it didn't show. He'd been so careful to keep her at ease, so she didn't mind sacrificing that intimacy that she craved to keep him happy. He ran a hand through his flawlessly flustered mop of blond curls and looked at her with those glistening blue eyes, as if he were considering something vital.

Maybe it was because she couldn't stop herself from sighing, but she realized in that moment that all she wanted to do was have Patrick Jane dance with her forever. Or at least until their feet wore grooves in the dance floor.

He must have read that in her face, because a look of determination came upon him, and he closed the distance between them in a moment, wrapping his arms around her lithe body. He was warm and his chest was firm, and Lisbon couldn't stop herself from turning her head so that it rested against that smooth curve of his shoulder. She could feel his breath on her face, coming a little quicker than it had been a moment before. Lisbon closed her eyes and smiled.

She was acutely aware when one of his hands moved upward to stroke her hair; she felt the electricity surge through her when his warm lips kissed the top of her head. Her arms were tightly wound around him, and no thought was put to dancing any longer. Then she realized, the only people in the whole room who were not dancing were herself and Jane. A little bubble of anxiety burst in her chest, and she forced herself to look at him. Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped her face with both hands.

When he did kiss her, it lasted only briefly, and by the time her mind caught up with her lips, she understood herself to be kissing him back awkwardly, and he pulled away.

"Oh-I'm...I'm sorry. I should have probably...I know you're just taking me out because you feel sorry for me, and I shouldn't have-"

"What?" Jane interjected, looking thoroughly confused. Lisbon began talking, and she couldn't stop. Her nerves had finally gotten the best of her, and all the thoughts that she hadn't known she'd had were spilling out of her mouth like something wild.

"You know, I'm just saying, I understand. You want me to have a little fun, because I work all the time, and because I rarely do things like this. I don't have many friends, and the ones I do have don't live around here. There's van Pelt, you know, but she's always pining over Rigsby and Cho has his girlfriend, and you have...well...I know how you feel, and I wouldn't want to put you in an awkward position, and you probably don't like kissing me in front of an audience, I mean-"

And he kissed her again, and she forgot everything she was saying. The song ended just as he pulled away, his lips still close enough to brush hers when he spoke.

"This is how I feel," he whispered, "and this is me kissing you in front of everyone."

He moved to place his lips against hers again...

...and Teresa Lisbon snapped out of her daydream instantly as she heard a knock on her door. She stood up too quickly, felt dizzy, sat down again. She was going out with Jane tonight. She was going out with Patrick Jane, consultant to the CBI, to dance. They were going to dance, and they were going to have a great time.

She smoothed her soft, chocolate dress and touched her hair to be sure that it was in place before she opened the door. And there was a bouquet of daisies, a blond man in a slate suit, and a smile that she'd been waiting to see all day.

"I was right, then. These _are _your favorite," he said, and she really, truly could not help herself. She burst into laughter, and Jane eyed her with open concern for her sanity.

"You never cease to amaze me, Jane," she whispered, and invited him inside.

_These are the moments I know heaven must exist_

_ And these are the moments I know all I need is this_

_ I have all I've waited for_

_ And I could not ask for more._

_

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This would be an excellent time for me to say, "Review, and I'll give you one million dollars!"...But this- "REVIEW! :D"-is more my style. ;)_


	7. Wine

A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers: Jisbon4ever, dogeatdog, Aquata, springdreaming, Frogster, StealthXHuntress, Anna and the anonymous reviewer whose..name I...obviously...don't...know. :D You guys are the REASON I update this thingy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mentalist...durrr.

**Drabble Genre: Romance/Some Humor**

**Characters: Teresa Lisbon, Patrick Jane**

**

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**

This was probably the worst idea you have ever had (second to agreeing to work with the irritatingly arrogant, completely annoying...perplexingly beautiful man who is standing in your living room at this very moment).

Really, in this particular day and age, who was left that would casually invite a coworker over to watch a movie (without the ulterior motive of seducing said coworker before the end credits)?

And why, oh why, have you allowed the anticipation to build up within yourself like this (enough to clog your pores, blur your vision, make simple breathing a monumental effort)?

"So...what film did you have in mind? A comedy? No, that's not really your style, is it?" Jane quips, his charming, teasing smile heating up your cheeks. "But I'm sure it's not a drama, because the goal is to surprise me, correct?"

"Why would it be unsurprising for me to choose a drama?" you ask, but you're too busy biting your thumbnail and tapping your foot on the floor to really think anything through.

Jane raises his eyebrow at you.

"Never mind...and I haven't really picked out a movie yet. I thought maybe you'd like to choose."

"Ok. Well, then...you have a very respectable film collection...I believe I've said so before..."

"Yes, you have," you reply, and you're back to square one. This feels like the night of your junior prom, when Teddy Greenwich became the first boy to ever take you anywhere (never mind that you had to arrest him a few years later for violating an unsuspecting farm animal). You're just about to give up on your nonexistent List of Interesting Things to Talk About With Patrick Jane when he sheds his jacket, hangs it by your front door, and practically dives into the DVD collection beside your television.

"How about instead of letting me choose, I employ my uncanny ability to always know what you're thinking and figure out which one of these you really want to watch tonight?" It wasn't a question, you realize, and so you just nod and go along with it. While he's sizing you up, you decide it seems foolish to stand around nervously, and walk the short distance to the kitchen, where he still has a decent view of you.

Then you're opening every cabinet door, trying to figure out what kind of drink to serve. Tea would seem to cater to him too much (and you don't have a kettle). Beer is more your father's style, so you don't keep any in your house. Wine is too sexy, coffee is something you know for a fact that Jane only drinks when he's extremely weary...and now that you've leaned into the very back of your pantry, you realize you have nothing else to offer, and must choose quickly from the meager selection.

"Okay, so I've got it down to two. And the wine would be great, Teresa."

He startles you so much with his sudden closeness that you nearly knock yourself unconscious on the underside of your counter, and you retreat rubbing your head as nonchalantly as possible. He's grinning so widely that you forget the throbbing pain instantly.

"Well...I have an open bottle in the refrigerator. I'll be there in just a minute."

He doesn't leave while you pour the red wine into two glasses, or while you mop up the bit you spilled before it stains your counter. He watches you while you cork the bottle again, replace it in the refrigerator, and turn to face him. His face is unreadable, not smirking, not even making fun of your clumsy wine-pouring capabilities.

You would give your badge to know what he is thinking at this moment (well, maybe not, but you'd take a paid vacation for the first time in five years).

"Jane?" you ask, and your voice sounds so normal, you feel a rush of pride.

"Just waiting."

"For what?"

"There's one more thing I need before I'll know which of these," he said, indicating two DVDs, "we'll be watching tonight. Wait. I'm seeing it..." He steps forward, takes your face in his hands, releases you. "Here," he says, and he hands you your glass of wine, "drink it."

You do as he says, feeling a little childish as his face breaks out into a grin.

"I have it!" he cries triumphantly, and he grabs your hand, his glass of wine, and the movies and pulls you into the living room.

"How did you get anything from me taking a sip of wine?"

"Haven't you learned, dear Teresa, that questioning me never produces a satisfactory answer?"

"Haven't you learned, Jane, that being a smart-ass with me never ends well for your legs?"

Jane cringes away from you in mock-fear, then inserts one of the disks and settles next to you on the comfortable sofa. He does not try to slip an arm around you; as a matter of fact, there's space for an entire person between the two of you, and you can't help but wonder if maybe it's on purpose.

The opening credits begin, and you hear a familiar sound, one you've heard thousands of times in the presence of...your five-year-old niece.

The title appears on the screen, and you can't help yourself; you laugh so freely, you fear wine may come shooting out of your nose.

"_The Little Mermaid_? Where did you get the idea-?"

"Three things. One, when I came in the door, I noticed a child's raincoat beside the space where I hung my jacket. If someone, say, her father, dropped her off when the forecast called for rain, she would have brought such an article of clothing with her-and as it hasn't rained in quite some time, I assumed it has been a while since you've seen her. And this is her favorite movie, after all, judging by the little red-haired mermaid on the jacket's front. I thought it could help with how much you're missing her."

You're astounded, but because this clue was perhaps a little obvious (for him) you shrug your shoulders and say, "Next." Jane grins at the challenge, and his words come more quickly as he circles the room.

"Two, you asked why it would be unsurprising if you wanted to see a drama-which, automatically, made me think that that's exactly what you had in mind. You're really predictable, Teresa. And it just confirmed my suspicion about your very young relative and her interesting raincoat. I watched this movie with my daughter a few times," he says, and a flicker of pain comes and goes, "and you know, being a sixteen-year-old mermaid going through puberty with no visible means of accessing the man you love-that's definitely a tragedy. So much drama, right?"

Your eyes are bulging out of your head now. His reasoning, if coming from anyone else, would sound utterly fictitious and seem riddled with holes, but the way he tells you these things assures you that he knows exactly what he's talking about.

"What's the last one, then? Does it have to do with-?"

"The wine," he says simply. "The way you drank the wine. Of course, I didn't _need _to watch you drink anything. I already knew which one to choose. The last one was just for me. "

His expression softens, and he slides a little closer to you on the sofa. Your heart is pumping faster suddenly, like you just realized something important, but you're not sure what it is. The saliva in your mouth turns to dust; you hope your breath smells decent when he kisses you.

(Where, exactly, did that come from?)

"How did I drink it?" you ask, your voice such a quiet whisper that you almost miss your own words.

His smile, the crooked one that you've come to admire so thoroughly, breaks through his smooth demeanor just as the little mermaid sees the man she will love for the first time.

"Like watching television was the last thing on your mind."

(It was.)

He kisses you.

(It's perfect.)

You kiss him back.

(Still perfect.)

His hand cups your cheek; the cold smoothness of something is absent. He's not wearing his wedding band.

(Holy shit.)

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Review, and thank you veryy much!


	8. Monster

A/N: So, I've decided that no one is half as fantastic as the readers of this erratically written collection of nonsensical rubbish :) Thank you for being so spectacularly magnificent: springdreaming, April, lisbon69, Aquata, allanon9, Frogster, Holz9364 (you have sooo reviewed my story before, and I'm very grateful, and I'm sure that your writing is far superior to your description), Jisbon4ever, and last but not least, MissNitaGirl, who gave me the greatest compliment I could ever hope to ask for. It is always my goal to sound more like "a recap of a real episode" and I'm thoroughly beside myself with glee that anyone could believe such a thing of any of my stories. Thank you, and happy reading!

A/N2: This will be a little darker than what I'm used to-and it will have two parts-but I still firmly believe that even dark stories can have happy(ish) endings! So please, let me know what you think-am I any good at angst?

**Drabble Genre: Angst/Drama**

**Characters: Teresa Lisbon/Patrick Jane**

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_"Where are you? and I'm so sorry_

_I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight._

_I need somebody and always_

_this sick, strange darkness_

_comes creeping on so haunting every time."_

_-Blink 182_

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Patrick Jane desperately wished that he could disappear against the brown of the sofa's cushions, but it was hopeless. As soon as she walked into the room, he knew there was no escaping what was coming. And truthfully, he more than deserved it this time. For once in his life, he lacked the nerve to instigate even a playful argument. Lisbon tossed her hair over her shoulder and latched her arms together tightly in front; her features, deceptively porcelain to hide the strength behind those green eyes, seemed in stark contrast with the darkness that blanketed the room. Jane watched listlessly as she carefully constructed the words that aimed to wound.

"I am...so...completely and wholly finished. You have put yourself and innocent people at risk for the last time. Get out. Leave, and don't ever come back."

Her voice was softer and lighter than the air in his lungs, but as he took in their meaning, he wished there was none to breathe. She wasn't just talking about the CBI, and he knew it. But even though he would not fight her, tease her as he normally would, he was still Patrick Jane, and he would never walk away from something without answers. And he had an idea, an inkling of something so preposterous, so ridiculous-so fundamental to his continued existence. So he asked her.

"Lisbon, do you hate me?"

"Please, don't." And the way she tilted her face so that her fingertips pressed her temple told him that she was suspicious of another mind game. He sat up as straight as he could on that sofa and looked at her pleadingly.

"I have this theory, you know. I've been entertaining it for quite some time now, and I feel that this is as good a time as any to come right out with it. Probably the best time, since you apparently want me gone forever." She neither confirmed nor denied the last bit verbally, but she promptly turned and grasped the doorknob, twisted it, cracked the door and gestured with her free hand for him to leave. A pinched, sour smile was to be his only "goodbye," then.

"I have no time for your bullshit anymore, Jane. For the next, say, six weeks, I'm going to be fighting to keep my job, complete thousands of pages of paperwork, explain to the entire state of California why my team-why I-can't control _one _man who's not even a criminal, but one of the good guys! My boss is breathing down my neck almost every second of my day, and when I'm not explaining you to her, I'm cleaning up your mess, taking care of the lawsuits incurred by _your_ moronic behavior...Jane, I can't keep this up anymore. You're killing me." She sighed so deeply, and it was the sound of someone giving up. She slammed the door, then half-collapsed into a chair opposite the sofa, on the other side of the room, and then neither of them moved. Jane blanched and licked his lips.

His posture was stiff, proper, almost too straight; one hand on each knee, his back not touching the sofa's cushions. Lisbon was slumped down in her chair, hands lifeless in her lap, eyes staring at images that Jane could not see, thinking thoughts that he could not decipher. He swallowed.

"I'm...sorry."

"I don't care what you are."

"I'm pathetic."

"I am aware."

"Please, please," and the words were barely whispered, "it was not my intention-I'm not hurtful on purpose-"

"You're such an idiot, Jane," Lisbon laughed derisively, throwing her hands up in the air and clenching her teeth. "Haven't you learned anything? 'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.' It's not about what you meant to do, Jane, it's what you did."

"You act as if I killed someone!" he bellowed, his anger getting the best of him. He struggled to remain seated.

"You almost did! Rigsby is going to be in the hospital for at least two weeks, and then God only knows how much physical therapy he'll need!"

"I'm sorry that he was shot! By the man that I captured, by the way, by an insane monster! It's not my fault that a corrupt police officer killed his sister and that he felt the need to punish the entire Bureau for it! The guy was so bent on revenge that nothing could have stopped him! I goaded him, verbally bludgeoned him into giving a confession, and yes, it wasn't the best way, but I'd think you'd be a little more grateful!" And at that moment, Lisbon's gaze snapped back to his, and there was silence. In that horrible, horrible instant, Jane realized that Lisbon was looking at his face, thinking of his desire for Red John's imminent death, and imagining him finally carrying out this gruesome, vengeful deed.

"If wanting revenge is all it takes to make someone a monster, then what are you?"

His blood ran cold, and he felt his face shut down. An intense, burning hatred engulfed him when he looked at her. Something that had been teetering on the edge had fallen, broken, between them. Jane stood, and smoothed the wrinkles from his suit, never taking his scorching eyes from hers. He walked toward her and the door, which was only a foot or so to her left. He glared down into her empty face as his hand connected with the doorknob.

"I thought you didn't care what I was?"

It was the most difficult thing he'd had to do in quite some time, but he managed to open the door, step outside, and close it behind him. His chest hurt in such a manner that he felt sure he must be having a heart attack. Or a mental breakdown severe enough that it was affecting him physically. Cho saw him and began to make his way through the cubicles to Jane's side, but the blond man waved him away. Grace was nowhere to be seen, probably still at the hospital with Rigsby. Jane waited hopefully, a second longer than he should have, in hopes that Lisbon would open the door, forgive him, welcome him back with open arms...

He dared not turn around, but he listened. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He heard Cho's voice, decided to ignore him. The door behind him did not open. After six years of working together, Teresa Lisbon did not care enough anymore (if she ever had) about Patrick Jane to give him a proper "goodbye."

And so, he left without one.

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_Sooo what do you think of part one? Review and let me know, and then I'll post the second half. Thank you :D_


	9. Stay

A/N: I have to head out of town today, so I'm posting this in a rush! This was not edited, so go easy on me. Thanks to my reviewers! I'll give you a proper shout out next time :)

**Drabble Genre: Angst/Drama/Some Romance**

**Characters: Teresa Lisbon/Patrick Jane**

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_"Don't waste your time on me,_

_You're already the voice inside my head_

_I miss you."_

_-Blink 182_

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Lisbon tried to bring herself to regret what had just happened, but she could not. She knew that, while it was not within her authority to dismiss Jane as a consultant to the CBI, he would not return. Something inside her bones told her that he'd been waiting for her to ask him to leave ever since Hightower had made it clear that his antics were putting Lisbon's career at risk. But she could put her hand on the Bible and swear that it had shredded her insides to pieces to say what she had said. It wasn't for her, honestly. It was for everyone else who ever had been or ever would be endangered by Jane's lack of concern for others.

Still, seeing his vacant face had been infinitely more dreadful than any consequence she could have bargained for. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, remembering just exactly what had pushed her to make this monumental decision.

Lisbon's team had gone undercover as a group of waiters at an upscale hotel; an extravagant party was being thrown there by their main suspect. While they had no concrete proof to link him to the murders of three innocent police officers, Lisbon had had a gut feeling that, once approached, this man wouldn't be too difficult to crack. Trust-fund billionaires never were.

All had gone as planned. The suspect in question headed off to the bathroom. Lisbon told van Pelt to mingle with the party guests and find out anything she could; Rigsby was to keep an eye on their host while she and Cho explored his hotel room. And Lisbon took every precaution she could think of when it came to Jane, telling him explicitly not to move from his seat at a table in the far corner of the crowded ballroom.

And he had promised that she had nothing to worry about.

Thirty minutes later, after discovering enough evidence in his room to put him away for twenty to life, Rigsby had called Lisbon's cell phone to tell her that their guy was on the move. He had a pretty young thing on his arm and was leaving his own party early. But there was one more thing.

"And...Lisbon? Jane is with them."

Lisbon cursed under her breath as she and Cho raced to catch up with the others. By the time she had arrived, a crowd of onlookers were watching in horror as Rigsby and the suspect took aim at one another. Jane was incapacitated; the suspect's muscular arm was wrapped around his throat. The limo that had arrived to collect the rich man and his conquest featured a large dent in the side; the girl had been thrown against it and was lying on the ground, unconscious.

And Lisbon knew, without even thinking, that it was all Jane's fault.

Before she had time to open her mouth, to try and calm the madman, Jane had done it; he brought his elbow down hard against the man's stomach, and in the scuffle, two shots sounded off. The first hit Rigsby in the shoulder, just above his heart. The second collided with someone in the crowd. A woman screamed, and it was a terrible, gut-wrenching sound. Two bystanders surged forward and assisted Jane in pinning the criminal to the ground. Van Pelt rushed to Rigsby; Cho was already calling an ambulance. In the din of it all, Lisbon didn't move. As she watched Jane press his arm against the back of the shooter's neck, he looked up and their gazes locked. The triumphant smile instantly disappeared from his face. Lisbon pointedly glanced toward Rigsby and the fallen bystander. Jane looked away.

With that, she turned to head back inside the hotel, away from the flashing cameras and cacophony of voices. She withdrew her cell phone from her pocket to see that it was Hightower calling her. Somewhere, off in the distance, she heard the sound of her doom, of decisions over which she had no control being made; and closer, just behind her, Jane's voice calling her name.

The Senior Agent blinked and she was back in her office, sitting in the same spot where Jane had left her. Her phone vibrated in her pocket; the hospital called with the best news she'd yet received. Rigsby was going to make a full recovery, and in less time than anticipated. She looked up then and saw something that didn't altogether surprise her: an origami frog perched on Jane's vacated seat. It sat there, Jane's final request for forgiveness, his last attempt at an apology. She rested her head in her hands, not really seeing it anymore. Once she had finally collected herself enough to stand, she walked across the room, gathered the folded paper in her hands, and tossed it in the trash.

"Why did you do that?" a voice asked from behind her. She turned around to see Jane standing in her doorway, looking more unkempt than she had ever seen him. "That one took me a very long time."

"Go away, Jane," she said, turning around. She could not go through this again. Leaning against her desk, she focused on her apple-shaped paperweight and considered launching it at Jane's head. Then she decided that would be too unoriginal.

Suddenly, he was just behind her, and his breath was on her ear.

"Look at me, Teresa. Just listen to what I have to say, and then I will leave you alone." He put one hand on her arm and left it there, not forcing her, but implying that she should face him. She did. His eyes bore into hers, frantic and insistent. Lisbon swallowed.

"You may think I'm a monster and that I don't care about anyone but myself. And frankly, before I came to work here, that was true. But being here has given me a purpose. I know I take it too far sometimes, that my disregard for the rules pisses you off, that I've endangered countless people with my scheming, that you're tired of being deceived. I know that what I have done is wrong, and the damage may be irreparable," he said, and his voice broke, "and I may not deserve to keep this job, to stay with your team." His eyes filled with liquid, and Lisbon had to force herself to remain frozen, callous. It was her strongest urge to comfort him. "And while I find that despicable in and of itself, it would be easy to live with compared to the alternative."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

Jane took her face in his hands, and the atmosphere rapidly changed. Lisbon could feel her pulse throbbing in her throat; her heart beat uncontrollably. But she held onto her resolve and anger.

"Lisbon...Teresa. I would rather become an unemployed, once-was novelty than be forced to live without you entirely. Please, please," he said, fingers tugging gently on her hair, shaking her tears to the surface of her eyes, "don't take this from me?"

Perhaps it was because she had never seen him beg to this extent, with this degree of sincerity and fear, but she let the tears slide down her face. Teresa Lisbon allowed Patrick Jane to see her cry.

He was so overcome with awe at the sight that he shattered the distance between them and embraced her tightly, his arms crushing her against his chest.

"Don't cry. I'm sorry. Don't cry."

Because she couldn't think of anything to diffuse the ridiculous situation, she mumbled, "Why not?"

Jane chuckled wetly, "Because it's unnatural." A moment later, he released her, rubbing his palms against his jacket nervously. Lisbon crossed her arms, suddenly diplomatic.

"So, you want to stay. You think that I shouldn't recommend your dismissal to Hightower or a higher authority. You think you can change."

"I do, you should not, and I will."

"And you want to stay...because of me?"

"Yes."

"Because you care? About me?"

"Unequivocally."

Lisbon considered that.

"Rigsby's going to be okay. The hospital just called with the news. He's apparently flirting with the nurses already."

"I bet van Pelt is seething."

"I don't doubt it."

"Should be amusing to witness."

"I agree."

"...Want to pay them a visit?"

"...Why not?"

Jane smiled, walked to the door and bowed dramatically.

"I would be happy to accompany you to bed side of our favorite invalid."

"Right," Lisbon nodded, trying not to smile. Jane offered her his arm, and she took it.

"Teresa?" he asked, as the elevator doors closed in front of them, and she turned to face him with an inquisitive expression. "Does this mean I can stay with you? On your team, I mean?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she pressed the "unlock" button on her key ring. As they opened the doors on the car, she looked across at Jane and grinned.

"Yes," she murmured, "and yes."

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_My reviewers are the very besttt :D_


	10. Paint

A/N: It's been a while since I've updated this. I've been super busy with college and another story and whatnot, but this popped into my head and would not go away. So here it is. Pure, shameless fluff. :)

**Drabble Genre: Humor/Romance**

**Characters: Teresa Lisbon/Patrick Jane**

* * *

"What do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Of this color."

"That color...is...atrocious."

"It's better than that one."

"It's only better with my eyes closed."

"Keep them closed, then."

"Ouch. Doesn't my opinion matter at all?"

"Of course it does. Just not when it comes to coordinating paint colors."

"I'll have you know I am _extremely_...trendy. And very responsible in that area."

"How so?"

"My suits are fabulous, as you know. And I never wear white socks with brown shoes."

"Wonderful. I like this one. Two gallons should be enough for the living room, don't you think?"

"The whole living room? In _mauve?_ An entirely _mauve _living room?"

"I fail to see the issue."

"It's _mauve_."

"So?"

"So! Cho will be horrified."

"It isn't Cho's house."

"Fine. _I_ will be horrified."

"I don't care."

"Jesus, woman! Why can't we find a color that we agree on?"

"Jane, we could could browse through every color in this store and never, ever find a color that matches that criteria."

"Sure we could. What about...Hunter Green? Or Passion Pink? Or Robin's Egg Blue?"

"..."

"..."

"...?"

"What? I felt that those were all reasonable suggestions."

"Why, why,_ why_ did I marry you?"

"..."

"?"

"Because of my uncanny ability to turn everyday tasks such as selecting a paint color for our living room into a thrilling, memorable adventure?"

"No...that's not it."

"It must have been the drugs."

"That makes sense. It would be just like you to slip me something every day."

"Rest assured that I only do that because I am a dedicated, loving husband."

"Really?"

"Really."

"So, you must be willing to go to great lengths to ensure my happiness."

"Yes...?"

"And you'd do anything to keep me in that state of happiness for as long as possible."

"Um...Teresa..."

"Then let me assure you, Patrick, that the one thing in this world that would make me a happy woman is to have a _mauve _living room."

"..."

"..."

"Fine. Mauve it is."

"Thank you, honey. I love you."

"Yeah, yeah. I suspect you'll want me to do all the painting as well."

"Jane! I remember why I married you now."

"You do? Why?"

"I needed someone to paint my living room."

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*sigh* review review review review review review.

You can't say "I didn't know she wanted me to review!" now, can you? Mwahahaha.


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